It Wasn't Just Sex
by icarusforgotten
Summary: prompt: Peter and Wade make love for the first time. [this is an alternate version to the 'first time' prompt that was already filled]. They'd been seeing each other for three weeks. Almost three and a half. It started out as shameless fucking in a back alley after an impossibly difficult team up.


They'd been seeing each other for three weeks. Almost three and a half. It started out as shameless fucking in a back alley after an impossibly difficult team up. Curiosity, really, was the instigator. Spidey kept _staring_ at him, and Wade didn't really like that attention.

But he did. It gave him thrills, made his spine tingle the way it sometimes did after regenerating paralysed nerve endings. He fucking loved it. He just didn't know how to really take it.

So Wade pushed that attention off of himself, pushed it back onto Spidey, who didn't even try and stop him.

He was rough, that first night. Filthy. Needed to hear the young hero scream, hear his focus divert away from whatever it was that had drawn him to Wade in the first place. He pounded into him without a single hint of mercy, almost hostile, trying to drown out the desperate look of curiosity that kept haunting his vision every time he closed his eyes. Tried so very hard to overpower Spidey's mind with bliss so unbearable it would make him keep a safe distance afterward, keep his curiosity away.

Lost in his own pleasure, in the heat of the tight muscle around him, keeping him hostage deep within the other for a seemingly endless moment as he came and came and came, Wade questioned why he felt the need to sabotage this sudden interest that was projected at him. He was impressed with his ability to think at all through his orgasm. It was the best thing he'd felt since … anything, really.

As Wade pulled out, sticky and heavy and already missing the warmth of that sweet, tight ass, he pushed Spidey roughly against the cold wall of the grimy alleyway.

"Had myself a swanky old time, baby boy, but this taco stand's not a 24/7 kind of business, if you catch my drift."

He didn't even give the hero enough time to catch his breath. Took off before the words even finished leaving his mouth, running somewhere, anywhere, before he could see those curious eyes fall on him again.

He shouldn't have been so surprised when the kid found him the very next day.

So they fucked again, behind the bench of a secluded park, Wade just as relentless as the last time, if not more so.

It kind of became a regular occurrence.

Fight baddies. Take a breath. Fuck. Take another breath. And rinse and repeat over and over again.

They never really spoke. Not with words, anyway. Wade's one sided ramblings didn't count.

It was something odd, indeed, because Peter was almost just as talkative and obnoxious as Wade – emphasis on the _almost_. Wade was so not relinquishing that title without a gladiator-like duel.

But as soon as the scene was cleared, as soon as any other heroes and civilians were gone and far out of reach, Peter became silent, speaking only with his eyes. Beckoning and enticing Wade to humour his hero in whatever sick fantasy he felt he needed to play out. It's not like Wade minded, really. He'd had a thing for Spider-man long before the kid even bothered to glance at him. He wasn't complaining about the contact, no. It was just that it seemed like Spidey was only _using_ him, like he didn't want _Wade_, but rather the thrill of what he _represented._ Danger. Unpredictability. Mass chaos and frightfully bewildering instability.

It was as though Spider-man was living out a part of himself _through_ Wade, and as used as he was to being the second handed gear to anyone and everyone, it made him feel unsettled.

Because what they had couldn't even be classified as sex. It was raw power, a mindless struggle for dominance, and even though it was Wade fucking Spidey every time, Wade driving his existence, his dry attempt at communicating his value, deep into the young hero, he still lost the battle. Every single time.

It was those damned _eyes_, the way they stared right into him, unravelled him from the inside out, took away his grip on perception – not like he had much to begin with – and drew it toward the outer fringes of a deeper, more subtle insanity, like a moth to a dull, open flame.

It terrified him.

So he fucked Spidey harder, every time. Fucked him until there was blood, and sometimes tears, the eyes of his mask damp and heavy, sagging around features burdened with pain.

It didn't stop him from coming back.

At some point Wade started to question the sanity of the young spider. He definitely had to be a masochist of some sort, to keep coming back for more, knowing that every time Wade would take him _harder,_ make him bleed _faster._

They didn't even know each other's names, let alone their faces. Well, Spidey probably knew _his_ name. Nearly everyone did. But that wasn't the point.

And Wade didn't want to ruin this … false projection of contentedness by probing the kid, making him realize his mistakes the instant Wade would ask for his name.

No, shattering this, whatever they had, simply wouldn't do.

So Wade kept on, investing himself in this mutual war for three weeks, drowning in the heavy silence between them, in those fucking eyes that kept burning his conscience with questions upon unanswered questions.

He did his best to ignore him.

At least until the cycle had broken.

Wade pulled quickly out of Spider-man, right after he finished fucking him again, wanting to get away from his breathless gasping. The sound was making his loins stir with unwanted heat. He opened his mouth for yet another distasteful farewell, but was promptly cut off.

"Want to come over? For dinner?"

Wade had to get Spidey to repeat that three times. And he still couldn't really believe it.

But he followed him to his home nonetheless, dazed and thrown for a loop.

They got to his apartment, climbing in through the window. Wade looked around as soon as he set his feet down. The place was a bit of a mess, with clothes and papers strewn in a clutter, but overall the kid had a nice room. Kinda small. Filled with books and posters of science-like things he didn't understand. There were stacks of DVDs and action hero collections; granted, not very large, but Wade guessed it was the best he could afford with his … accommodations.

The place looked like it belonged to a poor college student.

And my, what a college student. He'd taken off his mask while Wade was looking around. The eyes that bored into Wade's were deep and penetrating. Dark in colour, and in determination. There was something about them that wanted to make Wade run, yet challenged him to stay, to wipe the feint smirk off the kid's face with a swipe of his tongue.

He was looking at Wade expectantly.

Wade snorted. "Sorry, baby, I don't give my face right away after the first date."

The smirk only grew on the boy's lips.

It made his entire face look like a weapon.

"Make yourself at home, _Wade_. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes."

The challenge in his voice was clear.

"You got anything cute I can call you by, Spider-butt?" His tone was light, and teasing, but Wade kept his stance rigid. They were in the midst of battle, after all.

"Peter."

Wade felt the grin breaking out across his face before he could stop it. "Petey. How cute. Coulda totally pegged you for a Lucy."

Peter didn't let anything fall past the careful mask he'd set up on his face. He just held Wade's stare for a brief minute and walked out the door, leaving it wide open for Wade to follow.

Peter knew how to play the game. Oh, he knew very well.

Wade chased after him, admiring the kitchenette with mild interest before taking a seat. He propped his feet up on the table. They were quickly swatted away. He let out an undignified whine, but complied nonetheless.

He could push the limits of Peter's tolerance later. For now, he was waiting for food to be served. Never pass up free food. It was like a cardinal rule. That or never eat the bird raw. It hurt like a bitch on its way down.

They remained quiet for the rest of the evening. Even throughout the meal. Surprisingly, Wade had little to say. Even his boxes held more interest in observing what Peter was like out of costume than bothering Wade with their endless chatter.

He quite enjoyed this little break.

Then, as if awareness had been the key to breaking this tranquil daze, Wade stood abruptly, pushing the chair back against the hardwood floor with a sickening screech. The boxes eventually started up again, bickering endlessly and with vigour all the new theories they had made on the boy sitting casually before them.

"Thanks for the free food, but I gotta split. You know me, morning shift bright and early, gotta pay the bills and feed the fish, then take out the kids and spank the wife."

_You wish_.

Wade grunted.

He turned on his heel, intent on setting a fast pace out the way he'd come in, but before he could so much as _breathe_, there was a hand holding firmly onto his arm, keeping him rooted in place.

There was something wrong about that touch. Not wrong per se. Just so right that it left him feeling wrong, left him feeling like he was violating the implicit innocence of this boy by touching him. By _being_ _touched_ by him. Like there was something almost intimate lingering beneath the veil of something so simple, that it left him feeling further away from Peter than he had on that first night in the alleyway.

"Don't," he said.

It was just one word, _just one word_, but it left him feeling broken and helpless, and so very pliant to Peter's command. He just kept winning. Just kept gaining the upper hand over Wade, pulling the insecurity right from under him and using it to strangle him into place, making him inescapably bound to this game of theirs.

Peter led him back to his room, slowly, walking backwards so that his eyes were kept on Wade's the entire time. A calming influence as much as it was the basis of his turmoil.

For once, Wade felt like his mind had been shut off.

He let Peter push him back gently onto the bed. Let him straddle his lap, hips held still atop Wade's growing erection. They just sat there, not really doing anything, but it somehow felt like they were doing _everything_, and it left Wade feeling a desperate pressure clamping within his chest, growing with foreign vigour, and spreading with unbelievable ferocity out across the rest of his body.

He didn't understand this. This feeling. He _knew_ that he was feeling something for Peter on a deeper level than just physical pleasure. He just didn't really know what, yet. Or rather, he didn't want to know. Couldn't afford to know. Wouldn't dare to make himself aware of something that would most likely be ripped away from him sooner than he could hope to lose it himself.

Without much warning, Peter's hands started to slowly roam up Wade's chest. His touch was soft. Quiet. It left him feeling breathless faster than anything else they'd ever done. It was too intimate. Too unfamiliar. He didn't know how to respond.

Peter grinned, eyes careful as they looked down at Wade, filled with a saddened fondness. It was almost painful to see. Peter started to move his hips, slow and with precision, lining up with Wade oh so perfectly. He dragged his hands back down Wade's chest, methodically, fingers skimming along his muscle, testing unwritten boundaries.

Wade shivered. He shut his eyes, lost in sensation, when suddenly there was a tug at his mask.

In a flash he tore his eyes open, gripping Peter's wrist with livid strength, squeezing it in warning. He growled up at Peter, who was looking at him with that obscene curiosity again.

"The mask stays on," he said. He barely recognized his own voice, so rough and thick with bewildering emotion.

"Don't I get to see the face of my gentleman caller?" Peter's tone was mocking. But he totally got points for the _Glass Menagerie_ reference.

"The mask stays on," Wade repeated, his words slow and careful.

The hand at his mask released the fabric, but it didn't retreat. Instead, Peter cupped the side of his face, thumb skimming gently across his cheek. Wade shut his eyes tight; it was too much for him.

He let Peter strip him out of his suit, hands working to ease his nerves. He felt exposed. Not just because he was naked. Wade could handle naked. He totally had a killer body. But the way that Peter was staring at him, when Wade had opened his eyes again, it was like he was staring _through_ him again. Like he could see all of Wade's vulnerabilities, see the fragile secrets that Wade managed to keep hidden from the world.

Peter leaned down slowly, pressing hesitant lips to the skin of Wade's chest. It was too gentle. He needed this to be rough, needed to feel lost in their power struggle that he had become so familiar with. He brought his hands to Peter's back, hurriedly stripping him of the top of his suit. He raked his nails down the soft flesh, hearing the skin puncture. He could feel the scraped-off flesh building beneath his finger nails. It left a comfortable pressure.

Peter did little more than wince. He let Wade roam his hands across his back, let him have his vicious intent. He had an admirable pain tolerance. Peter's only response was to lean down again and place soft, gentle kisses across his skin, lips skimming and lingering across all the myriad bumps and scars colouring Wade's flesh.

He managed to hide his disgust well. Wade was really impressed.

"I'm not disgusted by you," came Peter's soft murmur against his skin.

"I said that out lout again, didn't I?"

Peter laughed. The sound was rather intoxicating.

But soon an awkward silence had overcome them both.

"I want to kiss you," Peter said.

"You are kissing me," came Wade's reply.

"No." His voice was stern. All traces of warmth and playfulness had evaporated. "I want your lips against mine. I want to kiss you, and I want to feel you kissing me back."

"Don't be an idiot. You can kiss me through the mask."

"No, Wade." Peter was silent for a fleeting moment. "You can lift it just over your mouth."

Wade frowned, face cringing in disagreement.

"Please."

It wasn't fair. Not at all.

Wade brought his hand to his mask. Peter placed a hand over his, but Wade swatted it away. Gingerly, regretfully, Wade pulled the spandex up, exposing his mouth. The cool air of Peter's room was a refreshing contrast to the humidity of his mask, and he was overcome with a vague sense of relief.

Then Peter's lips were against his, soft and warm and so very filled with purpose. Wade started to kiss back, biting against Peter's lips, trying to make the kiss less intimate and more _carnal_.

But Peter wasn't having any of it. He kept his lips slow and firm, one hand gently scraping up his torso, while the other pulled Wade's face in closer.

They kept kissing and touching, and Peter was drawing all sorts of noises from the depths of Wade's throat. At some point in his exploration, Peter had moved his hands off to remove the rest of his suit. He settled in between Wade's legs, pressing his hardness fully against him.

Wade let out a breathy moan. This was different. This felt _special_. This was _Peter_ making the _choice_ of putting himself _inside_ Wade. The thought made his head spin, and by the time Peter started moving his hips against Wade's, his short jerks in tune with Wade's desperate rut, he was a formless mass of _need_.

Peter must have sensed this, because now his hands were lifting Wade's thighs at the knees, pulling his legs up. He trailed kisses down along Wade's chest; he was getting sloppier. Wade could tell he wasn't gonna hold out for much longer.

He flicked his tongue briefly over the tip of Wade's erection, teasingly dragging it down in one fluid motion to the base of his cock. And then just like that, Peter left to find the lube. Wade let out a whine, shamelessly begging for more. Peter just quickly shushed him before coating his fingers with a hefty amount. Wade arched his brow, looking up at Peter with intrigue. Peter just smirked down at him before sticking two fingers in at once, curling and scissoring without hesitation.

Wade howled, writhing on the bed as sharp waves of pleasure rode up his body. He jerked his hips on Peter's fingers, but the bastard never stopped their little game of dominance. With his other hand, he kept Wade's hips pressed down, sinking them deep into the soft mattress. The fingers that were inside him worked at a relentless pace, sinking in deeper, the tips dragging across his most sensitive area.

The sound that had escaped Wade's mouth was muffled by his pleasure, somewhat of a gasp mixed within a cry of ecstasy. It made Peter laugh. Wade grit his teeth, opening his mouth for a sly retort.

Before he could say anything though, Peter retracted his fingers, and Wade was already missing the warmth and pressure of those digits filling him. He didn't wait long before something much larger, and pulsating with heat, stretched him to the point of feeling complete.

Peter rocked his hips until he was fully inside Wade, head resting on his shoulder.

His movements were slow, to Wade's dismay. Deep and hard. Not the fast, rough pace he wanted.

He'd tried a few times to influence Peter's thrust, to get him to drive into him faster, harder, but Peter just held Wade's hips down, breath ghosting across his lips before he kissed him, slow and deep, in time with the movement of his hips.

It made Wade feel far too vulnerable. This wasn't sex. It was making love.

He let Peter win their game, let him take the crown.

Wade wrapped his arms tightly around Peter's neck, holding on tight, through the kiss, through Peter's tender pace. He held on to the remnants of his reasoning, because once this was over, there was no way for Wade to rationalize what had occurred.

He shut his eyes again, gasping into Peter's mouth as something warm and frightening clenched tightly at his heart, so tender that it hurt.


End file.
